When In Rome
by Kestreleris
Summary: Riley thought he had trouble making friends even before he stole the Declaration of Independance, got nearly killed several times, and became fabulously wealthy...you can find common ground where you least expect it. Like under a table.
1. common ground

Title: When in Rome  
Summary: Riley thought he had trouble making friends _before_ he stole the Declaration of Independance, got nearly killed several times, and became fabulously wealthy. Afterwards, he began to think he wouldn't really relate to someone anymore...well, turns out that depends on the someone.  
Author's note: Blame the plotbunnies. They haunted my dreams and made me write this rather pointless little vignette. Had fun, though, I must admit...  
I have no plans to contunue it, but I don't really mind the idea...we'll see what the bunnies say. g  
Please review!

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"...but only if that's okay with you."

Riley Poole snapped to, trying not to look like he was only just tuning in. "Sure, I guess," he replied. _I hope I didn't just agree to something I'm going to regret. _

His blond, statuesque date (a bit too statuesque; at 5 foot 91/2 inches he got sick of looking up to every other woman he met) stood up from the table and flashed him a perfect white smile. "I'll be right back. Don't run off without me."

He opened his mouth, on the verge of making a smart remark that she might possibly even understand, but the bimbo had already walked away; he turned in his chair, pulled around by curiosity, and decided that she was headed to the restroom. With an exhaled breath that was half growl he turned back to the table and slumped a little to rest his elbows on the edge. His chin rested on his hands and listlessly he eyed the slightly blurred words reflected in the mirror nearby, debating whether to put on his glasses and deciding against it with another sigh. "Well, Riley, you sure know how to pick 'em," he mutterd disgustedly to himself.

"You said it, dude."

Riley started; the low, emphatic voice had come from somewhere under the table. He started to lean over and investigate but was stopped by frantic shushing.

"Shht! Shht! Do you WANT to give me away!"

His forehead thunked into his palm and he directed an incredulous look to the center of the table (it seemed as good a place as any). "Okaaay...do you mind explaining who you are and what you're doing under my table?"

"My name's Hattie; I'm hiding."

He snorted, amused in spite of himself. "This I can see...or not see, as the case may be. Might I go so far as to ask WHY you are hiding?" She didn't answer immediately and he made an abortive little movement to look. "I think I have a right to know, seeing as it's my table you're under." He frowned, his pride in his observational talents pricked. "How is it we didn't notice you untill now, anyway? This isn't exactly a banquet table, here."

The voice sounded slightly smug. "I'm good at hiding. I can squinch real small. Besides, I don't know how smart you are but I think Miss Barbara Ann Fairbush over there wouldn't notice anything beyond the end of her manicure if it bit her in the liposuctioned butt."

This time he actually spluttered, turning the imminent tide of laughter into a couple of strangled coughs. "Uh, hem. I really should defend my date's honor but I somehow can't bring myself to do so."

"Good for you." The person under his table was definately pleased with herself now, sounding like the cat that ate the canary. "I'm glad you can see through her, and I mean other than her transparent clothing." Her voice turned serious. "She's a gold-digger, you know."

"I know the type," he agreed, and smiled to himself at the joke.

"Too bad. How is it a young, casual guy like you ends up a target for braindead gold-diggers in a swanky joint like this, anyway? Are you one of those internet moguls, or something?"

"Well, as a matter of--" he broke of and frowned at his chosen spot of table. "Hey, don't change the subject. You still owe me that explaination."

She was silent for a while. "Darn. I was hoping you were dumb enough to be distracted." After a moment of hemming and hawing, she blurted out in one rush, "A friend of mine was being forced into cooperating with these guys because of some information they had, so I got the stuff away from them and now I'm hiding because they're concienceless swine and I'm afraid they might put a bullet in the ol' brainpan."

He blinked, impressed in spite of himself. "Huh." He pulled his glasses out of his pocket, dropped them casually, and bent over double to pick them up. He slid them on and peeked under the table; he didn't want to draw attention to her, but he caught a glimpse of someone small and dark, with huge expressive eyes, before he sat back up straight. Pulling some reading material out of his satchel, he pretended to scan it as he continued the conversation. "You look a bit young to be a secret agent."

"You're no elder yourself, Kimosabe." She sounded as if she was trying to be indignant but couldn't quite justify it. "I'm 21. Espionage is just a hobby; I'm a college senior. Chemistry major."

Riley turned another page, blinked, and sheepishly flipped the stack of documents right side up. _Okay, let's pretend that never happened_. "So, what, you melted the door lock of the top-secret blackmailing swine headquarters with some handy-dandy acid from the classroom?"

"I'm also a good lockpick--not something to admit to 'the powers that be', but I only use my powers for good. Oh, and I've seen a lot of detective tv shows." She thumped his foot. "Your turn, smart guy."

"My turn for what?"

She actualy stuck her head out from under the table, far enough to allow her to scowl at him properly, before ducking back under the cloth. "To tell your life story. What's a clever twenty-something like you doing in a place like this? And how do I get in on a similar arrangement?"

"It was kind of a one-shot deal, sorry." While she grumbled half-heartedly he debated how much of the truth he should tell her..._Well, it's not like it's some national secret_. "To make a long, long, _long_ story short: I joined a treasure-hunting expedition and we found something. Even though my entirely-too-noble partner turned down the reward they offered him, we did get something."

"If Barbie is your reward, I think you should ask for a refund." Riley snickered. The tablecloth fluttered as if she was almost coming out, but she settled for thwapping at his shin as something occurred to her. "Hey! Are you one of the guys that found THAT treasure?" He coughed modestly, which she took for an answer. She emitted a strange little squawk. "Holy Moses...that is the coolest thing ever!" Obviously unable to help herself, she stuck her head out again. He helpfully adjusted the way his satchel hung from the back of the chair to make her less visible and she smiled in thanks before continuing; "Say, I don't suppose you folks could use a chemist with a talent for breaking and entering next time you go off on a whirlwind adventure..."

He raised an eyebrow, a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. "Well, we can always find some use for someone experienced in getting out of trouble." He stuck out a hand as well as could be expected what with the strange way they were positioned. "I'm Riley Poole."

An arm joined the head sticking out from under the table and she firmly shook his hand. "Hatherleigh Quinn." The dark-eyed gypsy grinned cheekily. "Pleased to meet you. I don't think I've ever hidden under the table of a more congenial rich and smart guy." Her eyes flicked to the window, then widened. "It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you." With this non sequitor, she dove back under cover.

With a sinking feeling, he turned to the window; there was a man outside, peering against the glare; he shifted and Riley could spot a suspicious-looking bulge in the side of his jacket. The young man shook his foot to attract Hattie's attention. "So is that one of the guys who--" a passing van momentarily blocked out the sun and in the absence of glare he could see the man's face. With a startled curse, he snatched his bag off the back of the chair and slid of his seat. Pushing the satchel in front of himself, he scurried under the table. Settling into an awkward hunched position, he grinned ruefully at the startled girl. "The nice man with the gun is mine, not yours. Hope you don't mind."

Hattie waved her hand magnanimously, easier said than done in the tight space. "Mi table is su table." She hesitated, then asked, "Um, I don't suppose you have anything interesting in there? Not much entertainment under the table."

He shrugged a little, also a more complicated procedure than normal, and dug through his belongings. "I think I have a copy of Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in here somewhere..."

Her eyes lit up. "Ooh!"

Riley passed over the novel and shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. He laughed to himself. _This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship..._


	2. nowhere in particular

Chapter two

AN: this chapter should be subtitled, 'because the author is a pansy'. I have a few reviewers ask for continuation and what do I do? I continue! Sigh. I have some revenge, though: I have no idea what I am doing, and this is so far, still, proudly pointless. POINTLESS, I TELL YOU! But on the off chance y'all like banter, voila.

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Hattie paused, fingers still delicately grasping the title page. "I just had a deep and profound brain-thing inside my head."

"Really?"

"Mm-hmm. What happens when the bimbo comes back? Won't she make a fuss when she finds you missing?"

Riley frowned. "Oops. I think I had blocked her from my mind." He looked thoughtfully upwards at the bottom of the table. "I guess I could write a note. 'Dear...'" he trailed off.

Hattie blinked curiously at him. "Dear what?"

He coughed. "I seem to have forgotten her name...shut up!" he scowled furiously at his new aquaintance as she heroically stifled laughter. "So I don't write her name. Just say, 'called away on urgent business, so sorry, enjoy dinner.'"

"Yeah, but if she asks the stuffy waiter where you went things could go fubar."

"You saw our waiter from under here?"

"All waiters are stuffy, and the stuffiness increases as the menu prices go up."

"Good point," he admitted. "Hey, let's check if that guy with the gun is still there--"

She cut him off verbally and physically, manuvering into the space closest to the window. "No, let me. Not just a lockpick, I am also an expert peeper."

Riley had to admit that she was sneakier than him, smaller and more deft, but just for form's sake he protested, "I was a pretty good peeper in my day, I'll have you know. I was verging on genuine expert but the girls caught on and sealed up their changing room better."

Dropping the delicately raised tablecloth, she clapped her hand over a shout of laughter and glared at him over it. Carefully innocent, he asked, "Did you see him?"

She dropped her hand but continued to glare--he remained unimpressed, as she was still choking back giggles. "I only got a peepette because _somebody_--" Glare. "--distracted me. But I think he's gone."

"Gone for good gone, or gone into here gone?"

"How should I know? Last I saw he was headed more to the left--" she stopped and they looked at each other. "Parking lot?"

"Yes, my car is pretty distinctive. Okay, any minute now he's gonna know we're here...uh, I'm here. What say we just leave?"

She sucked in a deep breath and returned his book with a determined nod. "Tell some employee our excuse and split. Ready?"

He checked that his bag was re-packed and sat up ramrod straight, his head knocking the table. "Ready." He blinked. "Ow." She at least had the decency to pretend that she didn't find that funny, and they emerged from the table. An elderly woman having her dinner a few places away did a double take and Riley bowed slightly and seriously to her. Lending Hattie a hand in standing, he tucked her arm in his and strolled off with deliberate casualness; she played along, sticking her nose slightly in the air and sashaying along.

They dropped the silliness by the time they encountered a waiter. Riley cleared his throat. "Excuse me, sir." The waiter turned with that bored and slightly condescending look waiters do so well, and Riley fought the urge to match him air-for-air. Instead he continued in a straightforward way, "I'm from table sixteen; my sister--" Hattie nodded at the man, "--is here to get me; there's a family emergency. I need to leave right away, but my dinner partner is still in the, uh, powder room. Would it be possible for someone to tell her where we've gone?"

The waiter raised one eyebrow (Riley inwardly grumbled with envy--he'd never been able to master that particular trick.) and bowed very slightly. "Certainly, sir."

Hattie looked at him from under her eyelashes with a pitiful expression. "If I'm to get my brother to the correct place in the least amount of time, he will need to ride with me; would it be terribly inconvenient if his car stayed in the parking lot for some time?"

"I can send a friend to pick it up, so it shouldn't be left overnight," Riley added.

"That should be fine, sir." The waiter actually blinked as Hattie beamed at him and pumped his hand as entheusiastically as someone jacking up a car. Her thanks were effusive and Riley made some show of pulling her away, to the waiter's well-hidden but discernable relief. Ducking out the door with an only slightly conspicuous display of sneakiness, they dashed around the right side of the building and got their bearings.

The slight young man quirked a grin at his erstaz sister. "You don't think you might have been overdoing it," he indicated a short distance with his fingers, "a _teeny_ tiny bit back there?"

She managed to give the impression of sticking out her tongue without actually doing it. "So I improvised. It made the guy happy to see us off, didn't it?"

Riley made a noncommittal noise and changed the subject. "So what kind of vehicle do you have, anyway?"

Hattie slowly and with great ceremony extended her left foot. Riley didn't get it. She gestured at the foot vigorously, put it down with a thump, and repeated the process with the other foot. His expression cleared, then clouded again as he glared at her. "On foot? We're outrunning an armed bad guy on foot?" He slowly slid a hand over his eyes. "I can't believe I'm forsaking my sporty little red two-seater for this."

"Mmm." She patted his shoulder, not without sympathy. "On the plus side, our sporty little two-_feeter _doesn't come with the aforementioned armed cad." He groaned aloud at her attempt at punnery and she charged on regardless; "Speaking of whom, why is he after you? I assume you know him?"

Riley shooed her into motion, both of them setting off downstreet at a brisk walk. "Not personally; his brother was one of Ian's gang--Ian's the guy who wanted the treasure for himself. So, uh, when the gang gets arrested they--the good guys--look up any possible underworld connections, and they find Shaw's brother, a known criminal with unknown location. They showed us pictures, so that's how I recognize him."

She nodded in understanding, pulling him to the side as they passed a lady with a baby carriage. "Right. And this guy is bitter because his brother got arrested?"

"Actually, he's bitter because his brother got killed." He winced at her wide eyes, this time steering _her_ around a street sign. "He fell down a quasi-bottomless pit! Entirely _not_ my fault. But yeah, he's pretty ticked. And apparently he's venting his ire on Riley. Riley doesn't get any luck."

"Riley also referrs to himself in third person." She swallowed hard, watching her feet for a minute, before speaking up faintly; "Um, despite how...boldly I may talk, I actually don't have any experience being shot at." She made some helpless little gestures, distracted enough that she nearly collided with a portly businessman. "As wierd as it sounds, I'm kind of hoping you do, because then you might be able to tell me when to duck. And stuff."

He directed he into a convenience store and they settled near the back for a breather as he spoke. "Well, I do have some experience...unfortunately. S'funny...almost...before I started working with Ben the most violence I was accustomed to was getting swirlies at summer camp and playing video games."

She cocked an eyebrow (_dangit, she can to that too! _he thought jealously), looking a little disdainful. "Video games?"

"Well, I gave those up. When one has been shot at with real bullets, virtual ones loose their glamour. I still play Frogger, though."

"Okay, you're allowed to like Frogger."

They both jumped as the door opened with a loud ringing of the bell. Hattie giggled nervously. "Should we be moving on, you think?"

"Sure. Not, you know, that I have a philosophical objection to having a heart-to-heart while in definite possible mortal danger, but..."

She grinned at him teasingly. "'Definate possible mortal danger'?"

Riley refused to dignify that with a responce and exited the store with Hattie cackling behind him.


	3. have we got a plan yet?

**Chapter three: Have we got a plan yet?**

"Woah!"

Riley skidded to a halt and looked offended. "I beg your pardon?"

Hatie grinned a little sheepishly. "It just occured to me that some things in that store could be useful." She pivoted sharply on one heel and Riley had no choice but to follow, catching the door before it smacked him in the nose and shrugging apologetically at the store owner over the tinkling of the doorbells. Sidling out from under the man's suspicious gaze, he made his way to where his companion was pulling things off shelves.

She squeaked happily and snatched up a small bottle. He craned to look at the lable and she helpfully tilted it towards him. "Sulfuric acid," she said, just in case.

"I can read. What do you need it for?"

"I've already got nitric acid--" he blinked, stupefied, and she defensively clutched her prize close. "It's useful stuff! You're the one who asked if I used acid to you-know-what you-know-where!" Apparently deciding to be sore at him she huffily moved on to grab a bag of cotton balls. Shoving her current handful onto his arms (obviously her snit didn't preclude using him as a pack mule) she proceded to select a glass bottle of soda, a water bottle, and a book of matches. Surveying the pile, she added a small bag of marbles and a skinny tin of olives. Finally satisfied, she dragged him to the register.

Being a gentleman, Riley paid without giving her a chance to complain...okay, he also didn't want to risk remaining in the doghouse for too long. Refusing the plastic bag offered, they stashed half of the load in Riley's mostly-full bag and the rest in various pockets and pouches secreted about Hattie's person.

They left the store, Riley silently cursing the tinkly little bells, and as soon as they were out from under the suspicious cashier's eyes he spoke up. "So, what do you need it for?" She eyed him as if trying to decide whether to stay offended or not and he levelly returned the look, raising his eyebrows. (Maybe one of them was a _little_ higher than the other. Darn it.) "Hey, don't blame me for being surprised to learn that my new fleeing partner has corrosive materials on her person."

"Fleeing partner?" Riley refused to take the bait and she sighed, dragging him into yet another secluded area. (He recieved a conspiring wink and "You dog!" expression from an older man nearby which he promptly tried to forget about.) "Alright. Pay attention." He paid attention as she began to tick points off on her fingers. "Soak cellulose--in this case, cotton balls--in nitric acid and sulfuric acid for two minutes, wash it in cold water, and dry it slowly..."

He nodded to show he was keeping up. "Cotton balls, glass bottle to mix in, water bottle to rinse..."

"Right!" She seemed pleased to have someone keeping up. "You got yourself guncotton. Put some in the tin with marbles and light a fuse, you're on your way to a respectable bomb." He looked at her with honest admiration and she preened a litle before adding, "And if I don't have time to dry the stuff, I can just soak it in pure nitric acid and drop it in the sun; flash-bang, conflagration, instant distraction."

He shook his head slowly and led her back to the street, shifting his bag with new wariness and ignoring the audience. (_Dirty old man, anyway_.) "Cue the MacGyver theme music."

"I love that show!" She looked up at him a bit sheepishly--brief mental pause to celebrate befriending a short girl--and flushed. "Look, sorry for getting a hissy fit. I can be a defensive little goober some times."

He waved off her apology. "Ah, don't worry about it. Ben pouts more than you, and better, too."

"Ben?"

Yay, corruption of innocent...pyromanical...minds. "Ben Gates, heroic historian. Him and his crazy family led the way to the treasure." He frowned in an aggrieved way. "Got the girl, despite his pouting. Probably why he felt so warm and fuzzy inside that it seemed like a good idea to refuse the freakin'_ finder's fee_."

"Now who's pouting?"

"...oh, shut up."

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A/N: I've been on wikipedia, can you tell? 0:) Another chapter of nothing but banter, dear Lord will no one stop me:P 


	4. a foudroyant tantivy

Chapter four: A foudroyant tantivy

A/N In a burst of dubious inspiration, I have decided to take pity on any of you poor schmoes waiting on another chapter. It does look a little like it is trying to develop a point, but I wouldn't get your hopes up.  
...hey, kudos and a shout-out to anyone who can think up a point to give me. XDAnd did you know that katzenjammer means a loud, discordant noise, a hangover, or a state of depression or bewilderment?

_iiiiiiiiiii _

The screams were dying down, or maybe they were just fading with the distance. They finally stopped their mad dash when Hattie tripped over something he would rather not be identified and he almost keeled over himself in catching her. "Okay. I think it's okay to take a breather." The girl collapsed against the wall with an exhaled breath that puffed out her cheeks, and Riley managed to get past his own, totally justifiable shattered nerves to try and distract her. "So, is this your first explosion?"

Hattie coughed on a laugh and looked a bit less shell-shocked. "First deliberate one, sure." She nervously looked down the way they had come as if she could see the site. "I hope there wasn't any...uh...collateral damage."

He leaned against the wall next to her. "There shouldn't have been. We were definitely the only other ones in that alley, and you specifically waited until we found one with no windows low down."

"It was a lot bigger than I had planned."

"Well, I don't think that was your fault. The fertilizer and the bits of glass were totally my idea." Her only response was a drained nod as her head thunked back against the surface, and after a minute he nudged her gently in the ribs. "Come here often?" _I'm not used to being the experienced, calm, and mature one. It's surprisingly tiring. _

"Yeah." She giggled softly. "This is my favourite sewer. It has the best junk."

"MacGyver. Hey, look, a headless doll and some popsicle sticks!" _Why do sewers always have at least one dismembered doll? _"Why don't you make us a teleportation device? Or an airplane, or a submarine...I'm not picky." He felt the laugh she stifled run through her body and smirked triumphantly to himself, until it was chased by a sub-vocal whimper. Riley pushed off from the wall so he could see her fully. "What's the matter?"

Hattie smiled at him, and it was more subdued and twisted than her usual full-blown, sunshiny, just-this-close-to-insane grin. "I think I caught some shrapnel."

"_What_?! Where?" She stuck her left leg slightly out to the side and he noticed for the first time that she was favoring it. Inwardly he reviewed her numerous half-falls on the way down in a different light and cursed himself. _Stupid, stupid! _"How bad is it?" he asked, already crouching in the slime to inspect it gently. Through a wince as he touched the spot, she said,

"Not too bad. I think it's only a little bit of something..." she bit off whatever else she might have said as he tugged the obstruction loose, slightly crooked little teeth clamping down on her hand. He looked up to speak and grinned crookedly at the sight, with little humour.

"Don't put that thing in your mouth, you don't know where it's been." She stuck her tongue out at him, and he turned back to the shrapnel, pulling out three more little shards. For a moment he didn't get up, staring at the bloody slivers of glass as they lay innocently on his palm. With a grimace of disgust he dropped them, only pausing to feel irked that they didn't have enough mass to fling properly.

"Hey." She started to pet his dark hair and switched it to a prod in the shoulder. "It's fine, really. The glass was a good idea; that guy Shaw is built like a...a bulldozer on a heavy-gravity world, anything to slow him down is a good thing."

Riley sat back on his haunches and stared up at her, blinking something gritty away from his eyelashes. "Aren't you supposed to be whining, grumbling, whimpering, and otherwise bemoaning your rotten luck?"

"I don't know. I've never been hit with shrapnel before. Should I?"

He stood up and futily dusted off his backside. "I would." Her response was a smile and a slight lightening of the shadow over her eyes. The sight gave him an amazing rush of accomplishment. _I can see how this leadership, responsibility gig can get so popular. If I'm not careful I might start to really like it. _


End file.
